


Keep Your Head On Tight

by scrapmetal



Series: space cowboy road trip [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Uhh idk what else to tag, and din's helmet rule is firmly in place, chapter 16 fixit, i guess the romance is pretty slowburn, s2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapmetal/pseuds/scrapmetal
Summary: “Alright, Fett’s coming with me.”Cara gave Din a look from across the room that he ignored. It was the one she seemed to give him often now that Fett was around, one she'd given him frequently on Sorgan. But Fett was just someone he could trust with this more delicate part of the mission. Din probably would’ve trusted Cara too, but she had never asked to come along, so…
Relationships: Boba Fett & Fennec Shand, Boba Fett & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: space cowboy road trip [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091150
Comments: 40
Kudos: 457





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for context! the first chapter of this fic is a chapter 16 fixit (a very self indulgent one at that) and all the rest of the chapters that follow it will just jump off from what's here. they also probably won't be as long as this chapter considering my chapter lengths usually average out at about 2.5k words.

“Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters,”

If Boba held any positive expectations for Bo-Katan Kryze, they crumbled in an instant when met by her condescending words.

“Some of us serve a higher purpose.”

When the other Mandalorian, the Beroya, had told him they were recruiting a Kryze, Boba's first question was if she even wore armor. The Beroya had told him yes, of course she wore armor. He had been confused why Boba had even asked, while Boba sat trying to reconcile the new information what he'd learned as a child. Surely a relative of Satine Kryze, whose name his buir would curse every time he was reminded of her reign, a ruler who banned beskar'gam and Mando’a and the “violent” six tenets of the Resol'nare as a whole, would follow in those footsteps. But no, apparently Bo-Katan did not follow in the hypocritical pacifism of Satine, and Boba got his hopes up.

It was clear he shouldn't've done that, the Beroya hadn't seemed surprised by Kryze's haughty nature at all. Just because she didn't kill cultures didn't mean she couldn't be classist. 

After a bit more useless exchange between the Beroya and Kryze, Boba sighed, eyeing the uninterested looking Mando behind Kryze.

“We don't need these two. Let's get outta here.”

The Beroya had mentioned he had a few ideas for other friends he could potentially bring along just in case Kryze and her friend fell through. At that point Boba would take Cobb Vanth over someone like this. He didn't like the man at all, held no respect for the armor thief, but Boba could at least hold back a grudge for the sake of a job, unlike Kryze. 

But Kryze recognized his voice. And suddenly that's all that mattered to her. 

_ “You _ are not a Mandalorian,” she accused, clearly not just offended by the fact that he retracted the invitation to the job she didn't even want. No, she'd noticed he was a clone and decided to take it personally.

Mandos suspected the validity of other Mandos frequently, it was something one just had to do when beskar theft was rampant. But that's not what this was. Kryze had not suspected anything of him before he had spoken. No, she was denying him simply because he was a clone. If only his twelve year old self could see him now.

“Never said I was,” Boba muttered. Kryze didn't deserve anything from him. 

“Do you really think  _ I _ would be traveling with an armor thief, Kryze?” The Beroya asked, almost mockingly, which did not seem like something Boba would ever expect from him. “You'll never be able to stay Mand’alor if you continue like this.”

Ah. She was attempting to seize the throne.  _ There _ was the missing piece in the Kryze puzzle, monarchy. The Beroya was right, if Kryze were to become Mand'alor with her current plague of entitlement, she'd be dead within a week. Defeated in a proper duel by someone probably a lot more deserving of the title or assassinated by someone who didn't want it for themself. 

“Unless I'm mistaken, I'm pretty sure you've been living under a cult-sized rock your whole life,  _ Mandalorian.  _ I don't think you know who exactly you're working with.  _ What _ exactly you're working with.”

“I can trust Fett.” The Beroya said, pointedly ignoring the cult comment. It seemed like he was on the same boat as Boba when it came to Kryze and her insults. 

Kryze laughed. “He’s a clone, do you know  _ anything  _ about the Clone Wars?”

The Beroya’s voice dropped threateningly. “I was there. I remember.”

Kryze either didn’t notice the shift or didn’t care. “Then you should  _ remember _ the weak shadows of Mando’ade that made up the Republic's army. You should  _ remember  _ their demagolk’yc origin.” 

Boba felt the Beroya’s critical gaze settle on him through the visors of their buy'cese and his heart dropped. 

“Do you want the Moff or not?” The Beroya sighed, mercifully shifting the conversation, his eyes still on Boba. “We have the coordinates to his lightcrusier. Finding him isn’t the issue.”

_ We’ll talk about this later, _ was the unspoken promise. Boba was fine with that, Kryze wasn’t a very nice audience to have that conversation in front of. 

“You can bring me to Moff Gideon?” Kryze asked in disbelief.

The Beroya nodded. “Of course, I'm a bounty hunter, this is my job. His lightcruiser could be useful in your effort to regain Mandalore.”

Boba knew what the Beroya was doing, adding an incentive, but he had no idea what  _ Kryze _ was doing. Sure, when Mandalore had been a barely habitable contaminated desert wasteland due to the constant destruction of war Mando’ade still lived there, but during the purge The Empire ended that. Life could work with sand and dust, with acidic seas, with ash covered tundras. It couldn't work with baren glass that shattered into dust that slashed through lungs. The Ex-Imps that currently controlled it did not live there, no one did, and no one could. 

“You gotta be kidding me. Mandalore?” Boba grumbled. “The Empire turned that planet to glass.”

Kryze was furious. “You're a disgrace to your armor, to Mandalore.”

“Well, my buir was from Concord Dawn,” Boba pointed out. “It was his armor before mine. Mandalore isn't mine to claim.”

That was the last straw for Kryze, it seemed. She threw herself at Boba, and a brawl began. 

Kryze fought like she rarely fought by herself, like she fully expected her lackey to join in and cover her blind spots. Said sidekick just waited from the sidelines though, casually examining the paint job of her demi-gaunt. 

It meant Boba was having an easier time than he might’ve otherwise, but it left him feeling a bit empty. That the way one fought could be shaped in a certain way if they trusted that they could almost always count on someone else to back them up. Boba could barely imagine the luxury.

Kryze didn't yield when Boba caught her with his whipcord, but Boba himself was definitely done with the fight. 

“You need this lightcruiser, we need your help. Are you coming or not?” Boba asked, very ready to just be done. 

Kryze was still fuming, quiet anger in her eyes as she struggled against the cord around her. “I’m coming, but Gideon and the lightcruiser are mine, don’t forget that.”

“Help me rescue the Child and you can have whatever you want.” The Beroya said with a shrug as Boba released Kryze. “He is my only priority.”

* * *

“This is the brig. He's being held here under armed guard.”

Din eyed Dr. Pershing warily as his virtual tour of the lightcruiser ended. Everything that he'd said matched up with the hologram; there was no other explanation for the cold storage units in the cargo bay he'd pointed out other than power-sapping droids, and the brig looked like a brig, but Din had a hard time trusting the scientist for very obvious reasons. Fett seemed much more on edge due to Pershing’s presence, and Din faintly realized he now knew why. Pershing was a cloner, and somehow Fett had known that from the moment he first spotted him. 

It wasn't like any of them had much of a choice but to listen to the doctor though, and Pershing looked much too fearful to be able to lie well enough to get past everyone in the room. Din doubted it was an act, he'd been the exact same the first few times they'd met. 

“Very well,” Kryze declared. “We split into two parties.”

One for the child, for Grogu, one for the rest of the ship.

“I go alone,” Din decided. 

Kryze gave him a look of disapproval. It was annoying how quickly she'd taken leadership, but in a ship otherwise full of loners, maybe that just made sense. 

_ “Fine. _ Phase one--”

“I'll go with you, Beroya.” Fett interrupted. Kryze looked like she was about to explode, but Fett just looked like he was laughing at her silently behind his buy'ce.

Din shrugged slightly. The offer was nice, but he didn’t want… Well. He wasn’t quite sure.

“No… It’s fine, Fett.” Din said, the words coming out much less confidently than he expected. “I mean, you still have to fly the ship.”

He didn’t really want Fett to be relegated to being the driver when he was so eager to help and was, well, frankly an incredibly good asset, but he doubted Fett wanted to abandon his ship. Din wouldn’t’ve wanted to with the Crest. 

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Fett replied with a shrug. “You’re going to need the help if something goes wrong.” 

He was so dismissive… Din couldn't do much more than blink away his surprise. But Fett wasn’t wrong to imply that things would inevitably go wrong, so Din sighed and nodded. “Alright, Fett’s coming with me.”

Cara gave Din a look from across the room that he ignored. It was the one she seemed to give him often now that Fett was around, one she'd given him frequently on Sorgan. But Fett was just someone he could trust with this more delicate part of the mission. Din probably would’ve trusted Cara too, but she had never asked to come along, so…

Kryze looked between Fett and Din, an exasperated look on her face. “Are we done here?”

Din nodded.

“Alright, well, Fett? You better figure out who’s flying this ship. No leaving it for later.”

Fett’s head tilted in a bit of a devious smile and focused his gaze on Dr. Pershing. “Well, unless I’m mistaken, to get anywhere in the Empire, you need at least a bit of pilot training.”

Pershing blanched. “Just because I told you about the darktroopers doesn’t mean I’m flying this ship for you.” His level of confidence was impressive, but Din could hear the nerves under the act fairly easily.

“You’re a cloner.” Fett stated. “Trained on Kamino?”

Pershing nodded slowly.

“Then I can assume you know who I am and just how valuable my genes are. I don’t think you’d be letting me die anytime soon.”

“If- If I do this for you, I get a sample of your blood, and you drop me off on Kamino.” Pershing demanded.

Fett shrugged. “Sure. I’m a man of my word.”

Din frowned. He quietly wondered just how much Fett was giving up with this. Maybe it wasn’t a lot, and by the way Fett spoke, that’s what Din was tempted to assume, but he didn’t know anything about the man’s history.

It seemed everyone  _ else  _ did though.

Kryze cleared her throat. “Now that we’re done with  _ that _ , I can tell you how exactly we’re getting into that cruiser.”

* * *

They were just a bit too late to seal off the darktroopers properly.

The Beroya arrived first, he skipped past the open door quickly and stuck the code cylinder in the control panel as fast as he could, leaving his back open. 

Boba shot at the closest of the droids as the Beroya worked, it didn’t do much, and Boba wondered quietly what sort of alloy they were made of. Certainly wasn’t beskar, but durasteel wouldn’t be able to take the shots Boba was making.

The door started to shut, but not fast enough. The nearest darktrooper braced the thing open and slowly pulled the doors apart. Boba kept shooting for a bit, the Beroya now by his side, but once the darktrooper slipped through, it suddenly lunged forwards and grasped at his blaster, crushing the thing. He was forced to switch tactics.

Boba was good at close combat, but even with his skill it wasn’t the best tactic to use against a droid as sturdy as the one he was attempting to grapple. He missed his gaderffii, because however wooden and useless it’d be, it’d clearly be better than just tackling the droid, because he was quickly thrown across the room as the thing focused its efforts on the Beroya. 

The trooper grabbed the Beroya by his buy’ce as Boba tried to reorient himself. It took the other Mando, brought him back, and slammed the back of his head against the wall opposite of the door the droid came from. 

It pulled him back, and slammed him into the wall.

It pulled him back, and slammed him into the wall.

It pulled him back, and this time the Beroya’s visor was cracked.

The darktrooper slammed him into the wall once more, and the transparisteel visor shattered. Maybe that was when the darktrooper realized that the Beroya’s helmet was not, in fact, his actual head, because it suddenly stopped in its tracks and reconsidered its directive.

Boba got up, carefully making sure his gaze did not land on the Beroya. His intuition had been correct, it seemed, because it didn’t take long for him to see the Beroya’s damaged helmet skittering across the hall. There were short, unmodulated gasps coming from Boba’s left and he didn’t want to look and see the man who was making them. 

Boba crashed into the darktrooper, and that time it seemed to work. Perhaps because it was focused primarily on shattering the Beroya’s skull at that moment, or because Boba also hit it with fire. Maybe too much, because after about half a minute of blasting the droid, Boba didn’t even notice his fuel was low before it went out. 

The Beroya took out his beskar spear, Boba could hear it ring against his armor as it shifted, and Boba sighed a bit of relief. If nothing else could, the spear would defeat the monstrous droid.

The Beroya released some of his whistling birds as Boba was almost flung across the room again. Without turning around, Boba unsealed his helmet and handed it to the Beroya.

“Here, I’m going to have to turn around eventually. Don’t want you breaking your creed.”

There was a very dangerous period of time where both of them were helmetless, but the Beroya eventually listened to Boba and took his helmet.

“Thank you,” the Beroya’s voice was slightly different under Boba’s modulator, but Boba couldn’t bring himself to mind. He just nodded and stepped back from the darktrooper, letting loose a few of his knee rockets as he did.

The beskar spear in the hands of the Beroya was something to behold, really. Between the damage from the rockets, whistling birds, and the spear, the darktrooper finally fell, and Boba felt confident that it would not get back up.

Sometime between various cases of head trauma, Boba had forgotten about the other darktroopers, who had decided that blast doors wouldn’t hinder them at all as they began to pound their way out. Thankfully, the Beroya seemed to be one step ahead of him, and the airlock to their holding bay was quickly disengaged, removing every trooper in a single powerful rush of air.

“You alright?” Boba asked, noticing a slight stumble as the Beroya made his way towards him.

The Beroya shrugged dismissively. “Are you?”

“I’ve survived worse,” Boba responded with a smile, one the Beroya could see, he noted absently. “Let’s go get your son.”

The Beroya paused like he was going to say something, but then just nodded instead. They found his discarded buy’ce as they traveled down the hallway. The outside was unharmed, as was expected for the quality of the beskar, but the HUD was clearly damaged and the visor almost completely missing. No one would be wearing it anytime soon. 

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” Boba said, clipping it on his belt. “You can keep mine as ransom for a bit.”

The Beroya nodded his thanks and they continued on. The stormtroopers right outside the brig weren’t a problem, even with both of them being down a few weapons. What  _ was _ a problem though was the lightsaber being held directly over the child’s head.

Or Darksaber, Boba supposed. Because apparently, Moff Gideon had the Darksaber. 

“Drop the blaster,” The Moff said, slightly lowering the Darksaber closer to the child, “slowly.”

The Beroya did just that.

“Now kick it over to me, and keep your friend in check.”

Boba huffed slightly as the Beroya complied with Gideon’s orders. He would not risk the life of the child by attacking Gideon. Not yet anyways.

“Very good,” Gideon said with a nod. He was full of shit.

“Give me the kid,” the Beroya demanded, ignoring Gideon’s words.

“You two sure had fun with that darktrooper,” Gideon said, eyeing Boba’s helmet before moving his gaze to stare at Boba himself instead. “The scientists who developed them always say they’ve eliminated the  _ final weakness _ of a trooper by making them droids,” he smiled smugly, like he was in on one of Boba’s secrets, “but I think we all know who won the clone wars.”

Boba frowned slightly. “It wasn’t the clones, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

Gideon just laughed like Boba had told some elaborate joke.

“Give. Me. The kid,” the Beroya repeated. Not at all distracted by Gideon’s rambling.

“The kid is just fine where he is,” Gideon replied with a shrug, beginning to wave the Darksaber over the child. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan, most recently, but I think I remember hearing that Jango Fett had it at one point.”

Boba stole a glance at the Beroya. He doubted the man knew much about the Darksaber, which was honestly for the best. 

“Yes, I know you’ve been traveling with Bo-Katan,” Gideon said with a chuckle, “and I know exactly who  _ you _ are, Boba Fett. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything. Like the fact that you’ve both used a bit too much of your weaponry to take out that darktrooper, and that you, Din Djarin, have lost so much more on the way here,” he smiled, “including the sanctity of your name.”

The Beroya- Din- no,  _ the Beroya, _ spoke with a voice that poorly masked his impatience. “Where is this going?”

“ _ This  _ is where it’s going. I’m guessing Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me, or more accurately,” Gideon raised the Darksaber slightly, “this. But I’m not there. And I imagine that they’ve killed everyone on the bridge, being the... Murderous savages that they are. And now, they’re beginning to panic. You see, she  _ wants  _ this. Do you know why? Because it brings power.”

Boba sighed silently. They didn’t have time for this.

“Whoever wields this sword has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne, I’m sure you know this well, Fett.”

Boba rolled his eyes as the Beroya responded for him. 

“You keep it. I just want the kid.”

And oh, if Boba thought he couldn’t have more respect for the man, he was wrong.

Gideon nodded. “Very well. I’ve already got what I want from him. His blood.” He looked up at the beroya and gave him a pitying look. Boba glared back, he didn’t like where this was going at all. “All I wanted was to study his blood. This Child is extremely gifted... and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy.”

Boba wondered if something similar was said to his father before he was cloned.

“I see your bond with him,” Gideon continued with a shake of his head. “Take him. But you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways.”

The Beroya slowly walked over to his kid, warily stealing glances at Gideon, and Boba followed along protectively. Neither of them trusted the Moff, clearly.

And they were right to do so. 

As soon as Boba’s back turned, Gideon took the Darksaber and slashed it at where Boba’s neck would’ve been if his reflexes were just a hair less precise. Maybe the fact that his mind constantly replayed the moment his father was beheaded by a lightsaber for the last 30 years helped him know exactly how to prevent the death for himself. 

The Beroya was quick to turn, brandishing the beskar spear once again, this time against the weapon it was likely forged for. Boba used the distraction to grab the child and quietly inspected the small cuffs around his hands, vaguely wondering why, exactly, the imperial remnant just happened to have them in stock.

The skirmish didn’t take very long to end, and soon the Beroya had the spear at Gideon’s throat. It seemed the Moff risked a lot trying to catch Boba off guard, because he didn’t seem to be a duelist, not like the Beroya was. 

If Boba were to be fair to Gideon though, if he  _ had  _ happened to have been beheaded, he doubted the Beroya would’ve reacted well. It would've given him quite a lot of leverage. 

But Gideon hadn't succeeded, and for a brief second Boba had the privilege to see pure terror in the Moff’s eyes as he stared up the shaft of the beskar spear in front of his face. It all melted away into his usual annoying confidence when Boba brought out cuffs to bind his hands. 

“You’re sparing my life? Well, this should be interesting.”

Boba hoped the money the New Republic was giving for Gideon was worth keeping the bastard alive, because the way he'd said that didn't comfort Boba in the slightest. 

* * *

Escorting Gideon to the bridge was a breeze, probably because the Beroya had the Darksaber ignited and threatening in one hand and his kid tucked under his opposite arm, while Boba had the pleasure of wielding the beskar spear. 

The image of the three of them must've been something considering the looks on the girls’ faces when they arrived on the bridge. Kryze specifically was looking at the Darksaber in the Beroya’s hand with one of the most surprised and offended looks Boba had ever seen. 

And looking back, Boba realized that the Beroya had indeed happened to win the Darksaber off of Gideon in a fair and proper duel. 

_ Perhaps I should start thinking of him as the Mand'alor instead of the Beroya,  _ Boba thought with a bit of a chuckle to himself. If the Beroya knew of all that, he certainly hadn't noticed yet. Boba wouldn't be too surprised if he didn't, it was caught up in all the Mandalore politics Mandos outside of the sector often seemed happy to ignore, for good reason.

“What happened?” Kryze asked, still baffled.

“He brought him in alife, that's what happened.” Dune replied, pleasantly ignorant of the Darksaber in the room. “And now the New Republic’s gonna have to double the payment.”

“That's not what she's talking about,” Gideon interrupted, almost gleeful. He turned to Kryze. “Why don't you kill him now? And take it?”

Dune grabbed Gideon and threw him on the floor, clearly having the right idea. But Gideon’s smug look didn't disappear as he looked up at the Beroya. 

“It's yours now,” he stated simply. 

The Beroya's helmet tilted forward in a frown. “What is?”

“The Darksaber. It belongs to you.”

Kryze looked at Gideon with so much seething anger that Boba wondered if she was considering the Moff’s earlier suggestion. 

The Beroya just turned off the Darksaber and handed it towards Kryze. “Now… It belongs to her.”

Gideon smiled. “She can't take it.”

“Why not?” Boba asked with a frown, “Mand’alore can pass the mantle on peacefully. It doesn't happen often, but it's not unheard of.” That's how Jango had become Mand'alor for a while, after all, which was something Gideon seemed to be aware of.

“Do you want to tell him what happened last time, Bo?” Gideon prompted. 

“Last time,” Kryze started quietly, “it was given to me, and then I failed. I lost it in the Purge.”

Gideon  _ laughed.  _ “A child gave it to you! A child who trained with it vigorously and prepared, however hesitantly, to rule. And then she gave it to you with little question because you were an adult with a sob story of a sister. And you failed! She would've done better than you!”

Kryze sent a hateful look towards Gideon, but didn't argue. 

“The Darksaber doesn't have power,” Gideon mused, “the story does. And without that blade being secured by her own might and skill, she's a pretender to the throne.”

Kryze sighed. “He's right.”

Boba chuckled to himself quietly, not proud to be laughing along with the Moff. It was funny though, in a terrible way, where Kryze's drive to do anything for the throne seemed to arbitrarily stop. That she had enough awareness of how others viewed her to admit that she would not be accepted if she was just given the ‘saber again, but not enough awareness to realize that maybe she wasn't at all what the people wanted, that she’d already gotten her chance. 

The kid let out a little coo and the Beroya sighed as he shuffled the baby a bit in his grasp. “Come on,” he urged, “just take it.”

The alarms went off before Kryze could respond.

“Well, perhaps she’ll get another crack at it,” Gideon mused as everyone scrambled to see what was happening.

“The ray shields have been breached,” Fennec reported from the console, always quick to action. “We’re being boarded.”

“How many lifeforms?” Kryze asked.

Fennec gave her a look back. “None.”

So it was the darktroopers then. Maybe they should’ve guessed that releasing them into space wasn’t enough. “Seal all the blast doors across the ship. It’ll buy us some time,” Boba said, and then Fennec nodded and started to do just that. It was nice to have someone in the room who trusted Boba while Kryze’s eyes shot daggers at him.

“You’re about to face off with the darktroopers,” Gideon said with a smile before turning to the Beroya. “You had your hands full with one. Let’s see how you do against a platoon.”

Everyone ignored him.

“We need to get to the hangar,” Boba murmured quietly, mentally planning a route as he stared at a map of the cruiser. Unfortunately, every route crossed the areas the darktroopers had access to. Just their luck.

“There’s a secondary hangar closer to the bridge, not at all close to where the darktroopers boarded,” Kryze pointed out, “we could just take a ship from there.”

“You sure can do that,” Boba said with a nod, “but I’m not abandoning my ship.”

“Then we’re splitting up, going our separate ways.” Kryze replied tersely. “Who’s coming with me?”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea for Gideon to get anywhere near the darktroopers, so I guess I’ll hitch a ride with you,” Dune said.

“Well your lackey is obviously going with you, and Fennec’s coming with me,” Boba deliberated. “Beroya?”

Everyone turned their gaze on the bounty hunter. He stood silently for a bit, his kid still firmly pressed against his chestplate, but after a bit of deliberation, he thumbed the on button of the Darksaber a bit and tilted his head in a smile.

“Well, as long as I’m stuck with this thing, I think helping escort Fett to his ship would be the least I could do.” 

Boba let out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. 

* * *

Despite the fact that he was holding a baby and was just about to deal with the extremely dangerous consequences of his choices, Din did not regret following Fett back to the Slave. About six darktroopers were revealed as Fett opened one of the last blast doors between them and the hangar, and Din activated the not-light sword, Darksaber, whatever, without a second thought. 

“It’s just a kad, Beroya,” Fett said reassuringly from Din’s left, probably sensing his hesitance with the saber. “If you miss a few swings I’m right behind you.”

Din nodded, feeling Fett’s helmet tickle his ears with the movement. He still hadn’t gotten used to it, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to, but there was a strange sort of familiarity to be found within the helmet. Somehow it all felt very Fett, because of course he would have a straw built into the thing, of course he would have his field of view widened to nearly 360 degrees.

But Fett was very wrong about the Darksaber being a normal blade. As Din cut through the first darktrooper effortlessly, Grogu giving a little clap from where he rested in Din’s arms, he realized just how powerful the weapon was. It took Boba a comparatively long time to scrap the next darktrooper, even with his incredible skill with the beskar spear and Shand backing him up. 

Maybe this was why the Darksaber was a symbol of power, why the Jedi were feared. They’d made it past the darktroopers with only a few stray blaster bolts and bruises, and before reinforcements could come, they made it to the hangar, into the Slave I and Din could finally let himself breathe.

Fett and Shand were up in the cockpit, busy making a quick escape, and Din was left down in the navigation room with Grogu. A lot had happened, but Din couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it, because Grogu was here in his arms, babbling up at him. 

Grogu’s little claws gripped at Fett’s helmet and he let out a confused chirp. Fett had placed Din’s own damaged helmet at his feet when they’d entered the ship, and so Din was able to show Grogu what exactly had happened.

Grogu gasped quietly when he saw Din’s buy’ce without its visor, he traced the hollowed cheeks gingerly as tears started to well up in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Din chuckled. “I’m still here, and we’ll be able to fix it soon.”

Grogu responded by slapping Fett’s buy’ce, almost like a question.

“I’m just borrowing it,” Din said with a shrug. He realized Grogu had never seen Fett with his own helmet on, did he recognize that it belonged to the other Mando, or was he still having problems with his colors?

Grogu slapped his other hand on the helmet and every so gently pushed it up.

_ Oh. _

Well, he had already taken off his buy’ce for the kid already, hadn’t he? Now would be the time to make it all official. Fett and Shand were settled in the cockpit, he had plenty of privacy, and well… If a Jedi responded to Grogu’s call on the rock, Din couldn’t imagine being separated from his kid like that again, so they’d have to work out something else.

It was time.

“Grogu?”

He made a delighted chirp and looked up at Din.

“Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Grogu Djarin.”

Grogu blinked very slowly at the words, and Din started to remove Fett’s helmet. It had been more than five long years since the purge, since the old clan of two consisting of him and his buir was shattered, it had been that long since he had a family to share his face with.

Din smiled widely, and Grogu immediately put a finger in his mouth.

“It means you’re my kid now, Grogu,” Din said with a laugh, moving Grogu’s hand to his cheek instead. 

Grogu cooed quietly, and Din almost wanted to run up into the cockpit to share the news to Fett and Shand

* * *

“Why the hell are you so happy, Moff? You lost.”

Gideon chuckled softly. It seemed Bo-Katan didn't know what it took to defeat him, Carasynthia certainly didn't. Only someone as naive as her would keep him alive. Leave him talking.

“Oh, but you did too, didn't you? You were the one that was supposed to defeat me, but the Darksaber fell into the hands of that bounty hunter, of Din Djarin.”

That got her attention. Just as Gideon had expected, Djarin had not revealed his name to the fellow Mandalorian. Bo-Katan wouldn't've liked that, Gideon knew. She would've disliked Djarin’s hidden face more. Gideon found that she often felt like she deserved something. Many things. Her entitlement transcended many of her other values, only superseded by her pride. 

The Jedi had been able to control the weak willed with the Force, bending weak minds to their wills. Gideon had found that simple words could be just as powerful with the same sorts. 

Gideon sighed, playing up the act he knew just as well as breathing. “First that little girl found the saber in Maul’s closet, then now the hunter has taken it. It's a shame, really, to see Mandalore's royal family on its knees.”

Bo-Katan was furious. “You missed someone in your story. You  _ stole  _ it from me. I may be the last of my clan, but I'm not on my knees yet. I'll get what I deserve.”

Gideon nodded patiently. No one ever thought they'd end up listening to him when he started talking, but it was a slow, winding road, and Gideon had walked it many patient times. 

“Oh, you will. There's no doubting the saber belongs in the hands of a Kryze, and the Darksaber, it calls. I'm sure you've felt it when wielding it yourself, it calls for a true Mand'alor.”

Bo-Katan faltered. “What are you getting at?”

She hadn’t noticed the insult Gideon slipped into that. He tucked that information back into his mind. Every interaction would give him more information on how exactly to get what he wanted. 

“I’m afraid you’re right! I lost.” Gideon sighed again. “It's only natural for me to… Sympathise with your own loss, however contradictory it may seem.”

“Cut the osik. What do you really want?” 

There it was. 

“You understand how desperate of a situation I’m in, I’m sure you do. And I don’t expect you to trust me, but I’m not asking for much.”

Kryze laughed. “You think I’m going to just  _ let you go? _ After what you did to Mandalore?”

She didn’t understand how long he was willing to wait. How much he was willing to sacrifice to get what he wanted.

Gideon smiled a sorry smile. “I wouldn’t dream of expecting that much from you. But you never did get that light cruiser though, did you? Wasn’t that part of your deal with Djarin?”

Kryze’s eyes widened. There was no reason for Gideon to know that, but he did, of course. And he was using everything he could.

“Well if you prevented me from landing in the hands of the New Republic…” He shrugged. “As long as I don't wind up dead, I can clear that ship of darktroopers and I'll give you the key. No funny business, you'll have your own crew, I just don't want my secrets ending up in the New Republic’s bumbling system.” 

“You’ll need something better than that,” Kryze muttered. “I don’t care about your secrets.”

“But do you care about the secrets of Mandalore?” He asked, giving her a quaint smile. 

Kryze’s reaction was subtle, just a slight tightening of her fists, a straightening to her posture, but Gideon knew he got her. She was well aware of how much information he had gotten when he'd led the Purge of Mandalore. Vaults of information and history centuries old, buried deep underneath rock and sand, scattered just as far as the Mandalorians themselves. It was impressive, the depth of the written record keeping traditions of some clans, though it proved to be dangerous for them in the end. Perhaps the clans with oral traditions would've proved superior, if their voices had not already been stolen by Kryze's dear sister. 

Kryze let out a sharp breath. She'd finally chosen the only answer. “What do I do about Dune?”

Gideon shrugged. “Do you not have more cuffs? Between you, your lackey, and surprise, I'm sure you can make quick work of her.”

Kryze nodded. 

A long road indeed, a road that led to Gideon’s rule over a new Mandalorian Empire. He just had to be mindful of his steps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mando'a translations:  
> beroya- bounty hunter  
> buir- parent  
> Resol'nare- Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life  
> Mand'alor- sole ruler  
> Mando'ade- Mandalorians  
> demagolk’yc- from the word demagolka meaning "inspiring hatred and dread," historically linked with inhumane science  
> buy'ce (buy'cese pl.)- helmet  
> kad- sword, saber, blade


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For that moment, though, they were traveling. Tending to their wounds. Things had gone so fast on the lightcruiser that when Fett had suggested their little trip, Din’s rattled mind had just expected it all to come within the hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is making me write a lot more per chapter than i usually do and idk what it is about it that makes me do that. its pretty epic though. we're onto the body of the fic though! no longer just a fixit :) i have a lot planned and im super excited to get to it all.

The sound of a blaster shot from the cockpit of the Slave ruined the quiet moment Din was having with his son. Grogu curled up into Din’s side instinctively and Din himself quickly threw Fett's helmet on and made his way up into the cockpit.

Fett and Shand were fine, thankfully. The fresh corpse of Dr. Pershing lay inelegantly on the floor, but Din couldn't find it within himself to even start to care about the loss of  _ his _ life. 

“Did the deal not work out?” Din asked, claiming the remaining copilot seat. 

Fett didn't respond immediately, he looked out at nothing for a bit, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“He got too excited, started telling me about all the things he could do with a sample of my DNA. I didn't like what I heard.”

Din shuddered, subconsciously bringing Grogu closer to him. “What did you hear?”

Fett sighed, absently tapping on his knee. He snuck a look with Shand, and Din suddenly realized Fett was going to disclose much more than just what Pershing said. “How much do you know, first? About the clones, all that.”

“Well I knew a few as a child, but I don’t remember much… Evidently, considering I didn’t recognize you.”

“Knew a few?” Fett repeated, perking up a bit.

Din shrugged. “They stayed near the village I grew up in once the war traveled there, they liked to interact with us kids. That was before… Before I was Found.” 

Fett nodded. “I'm a clone, but I wasn't lying when I said Jango was my father. He was the one to provide the genetic material for the clones, and in return he was given me, the only unmodified clone, to raise as his child.”

“That's a… Strange form of payment,” Din commented, not quite sure what else to say. 

Fett laughed and Shand rolled her eyes, still silently listening. “He's the one who asked for me. He… Saved me, in some roundabout way, I think. I would've been made either way, one of the millions, but I was the one to get a buir…” he trailed off and shook his head. “I'm valuable because my DNA is unmodified, so if they got their hands on it they'd basically have their template back. It'd be much easier to make another army of clones by modifying the same DNA sequence, wouldn’t have to reinvent all the modifications with some other prime. Now I’m wondering if that's why they agreed to allow me to exist in the first place.”

Din frowned quietly. “Why would they want to make more clones?”

“From what I gathered from our dead friend, there's a strange sort of nostalgia some of the imperial scientists have towards the clone troopers, waxing on about how much better they were than stormtroopers. Rose tinted glasses, of course, but even if they were completely right, I'm not letting it happen again. Not letting anyone else go through that.”

Din glanced down at Pershing's fresh corpse. “How bad was it for them?” He asked quietly.

“Bad enough that when I was ten and my buir died, I was half convinced I deserved every bad thing that happened next because of the relatively luxurious life I had compared to everyone around me.”

“They also ended up being mind controlled by the Empire by the end of the war,” Shand added, speaking up suddenly. “A nice cherry on top of the whole thing.”

Boba hummed in agreement. “Sometimes I forget you know more about that than I do. I was ignorant for years.”

Din didn't know how to respond to any of that, not without saying something stupidly revealing like “My parents died when I was about that age and then 20 years later my buir died in the purge.” 

But Grogu could act faster than Din could speak, apparently, and he reached out to Fett, asking to be held, as if he could tell that the man needed something soft and cute to hold for a while. 

Fett accepted Grogu’s request with a small smile that broke him out of the despair he had seemed to be spiraling through as he spoke. 

“I wonder…” Fett mused, holding Grogu out in front of himself delicately and considering him. “What were they trying to accomplish with you?”

Din’s heart dropped and he gasped at the sudden realization. “I don't know.”

Boba looked back up at Din, Grogu now pulled closer to his chest, confusion in his eyes.

“I still don't know what the Imps wanted from him,” Din elaborated, “what they wanted to do with his blood I… They got what they wanted, Fett. He’s back with me but I didn't _stop_ anything, I don't even know what they're trying to do in the first place!”

“And you feel responsible,” Fett replied. Not really a question, but Din nodded anyways. 

“Well, we could always find out,” Fett continued, a devious smile faint on his lips as he absently patted Grogu's head, eyes still on Din. Shand started punching coordinates into the console without any prompting. Din had no idea how the two seemed to always know what the other was thinking. 

Din frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“Unless you have something more important to do, we could always go to Kamino and do some investigation. There's no way they aren't doing all that there considering that's where Pershing trained, and I still know the place like the back of my hand even all these years later.”

Din smiled a cheeky smile Fett couldn't see but could probably pick up on. “If breaking into this place will give you catharsis for all that backstory you have bottled up, count me in.”

Fett laughed. “I appreciate the moral support! Some of us,” he looked back at Shand, “could learn a thing or two from you.”

Shand rolled her eyes. “Like I haven't been a lieral shoulder for you to cry on several times.” 

Din had absolutely no clue where Fett and Shand’s relationship stood, and every time they interacted he felt like he knew less. It was getting to a point where he'd probably just need to ask. 

“Anyways, Beroya, we'll make sure your buy'ce gets repaired before we get there, if only I can wear mine again.”

Din laughed awkwardly. He felt like he was overstaying his welcome inside the bucket, even if Fett seemed to be ambivalent. 

“Are you sure you want to wait? I can just… Hide somewhere with the kid until mine gets fixed.” It was a silly suggestion, he knew, but he didn't want to leave Fett without options.

Fett dismissed Din with a wave. “It's fine! I promise. I know a place that can repair it that's less than a day away. Just don't unpause any of my audiobooks.”

Din smiled back at that. “No promises.”

* * *

Tatooine was their destination for the repair, even if that meant they were going ‘round the long way to Kamino. Din didn't mind. He had friends on Tatooine, and it was clear Fett had… Something. A contact, at least. But that was presumably where he'd lost his armor, and so it was unlikely that he had just been on a quick job when it happened. Otherwise he probably wouldn't've wanted to come back.

At least, that's probably how Din would be if he were to be stripped of his armor. 

For that moment, though, they were traveling. Tending to their wounds. Things had gone so fast on the lightcruiser that when Fett had suggested their little trip, Din’s rattled mind had just expected it all to come within the hour.

Travel was a needed break. For all of them, even little Grogu, who had clearly been poked frequently throughout his time with the Imps. Each day Grogu would have more energy about him, more color to his skin, and Din’s relief was so evident that Fett commented on it more than once. 

Din watched his son (officially now!) explore Slave I. It was definitely more interesting than the Crest, with its gyroscopic nav room and two perpendicular gravity fields. Din didn't know if Grogu was aware that they'd never return to their ship, but he suspected the kid did. He was uncannily aware of things, sometimes. Sometimes that was nice. Other times Din worried that Grogu had ever been given a chance to experience the bliss of being unaware. 

“Hey.”

Din glanced up as Fett lowered himself down from the cockpit and into the nav room, where Grogu was toddling around, weaving around the chairs. 

“Hey,” Din responded idly. Things were settling down, but that just meant they were closer to Kamino, closer to whatever that would bring.

Fett frowned, scanning Din a bit like he was looking for something. “...Where’d you put the Darksaber?” 

Din shrugged tiredly. “Put it away near my bunk. I don’t want to think about all that.”

Fett made his way to the seat across from Din. “That’s fair. I don’t think it’ll be as big as a deal as Kryze made it out to be though.”

“Not unless she comes back.”

Fett smiled. “She’ll have to find us first, and clearly she isn’t very good at that.”

Din chuckled, shoving away the feeling that he was just going to get bitten in the ass later. The short conversation faded, but Fett didn’t seem to mind, he just leaned back in his chair and watched as Grogu rammed into his legs. 

“You’re a little demon, aren’t you?” Fett murmured as he lifted the kid onto his lap. He didn’t seem too pressed about the Darksaber, just curious about its location, but Din couldn’t stop the anxiety that was now gnawing at him. 

“I’ll have to do something about it eventually though,” Din said quietly, and Fett looked up.

“Do something about what?”

“The Darksaber.”

Fett sighed. “...Yeah, you’re right. Someone smarter than Kryze will catch on to the fact that you have the thing eventually.” He stopped to think, letting Grogu slowly try to peel the glove off his right hand. “You know… They  _ do  _ say the best Mand’alore are also the best buire. You’d do a lot better than you think.”

“I… Thank you.” Din almost wanted to cry, being called a good buir, especially indirectly like that, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to Fett. “I just don’t want to do it. At all. Even if I were to do well, it’s just not something I want to do.”

“Makes sense,” Fett replied with a small smile. “I don’t think I could imagine you ordering anyone around.”

Din let out a relieved breath. “Good, I’m glad you aren’t pressuring me to do it. The way Kryze responded made it seem like everyone was just going to, I don’t know. Follow me or else?”

“Some might! I don’t think most would though. It’s not a definite thing, the Darksaber. My buir, Jango, never truly had it, despite what Gideon thought, but plenty followed him for a time. Kryze is just stuck, it seems. Stuck on a lot of things. You could give the thing to just about anyone else and they’ll accept it.”

Din smiled. “Oh, alright. I’ll just give it to you then. Since you know so much about it”

Fett’s eyes widened. “Oh stars, please no.”

Din laughed at that hard, harder than he had at anything in way too long.

“I have my reasons, Beroya! Come on!”

Din was still grinning under Fett’s buy’ce by the time he composed himself enough to answer. “I do too! I just… Fett, you’re really something else.”

“Yeah, that's what they say,” Fett muttered, but Din could feel the fondness behind it. 

* * *

“You said you didn't know any Mandalorian armorers?”

Boba shrugged. Part of him wondered why it took so long for the Beroya to ask where they were going. “I don't, but she’ll be able to replace your visor, no problem.”

The Beroya didn't answer verbally, but Boba could picture his little nod of understanding as the two hurried single file through the streets of Mos Eisley.

Arraz was very good at her job, trained by one of the best. Boba had never come to her specifically for armor repairs since didn’t have armor by the time she took over her father's little shop, but he trusted that she'd been taught what she needed to know. 

The shop was hidden snug in an alleyway even narrower than most of the narrow, shaded streets typical of Tatooine cities, and Boba had to turn back a few times to make sure the Beroya was still following by the time he made it to the shop’s doorway. 

Unfortunately, as Boba opened the door, Arraz happened to be right in front of it. She yelped, nearly dropping the rifle she was carrying, and leveled an accusatory glare at Boba. 

“You really are a sand ghost, Fett! Force.”

“Well hello to you too, Arraz,” Boba replied with a smile. He had never been more than just a regular customer of her father's, but something about the sarlacc pit had somehow made it so much easier to make friends once he escaped. It was probably the realization, the one he had while he was dying, that he was completely and utterly alone. 

“I see you finally got your dignity back,” Arraz commented. Boba rolled his eyes. “And wow, you got married too?”

Boba frowned and glanced back at the Beroya, who had conveniently just entered right before Arraz asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“They're wearing your helmet,” Arraz explained. “Don't Mandos swap armor when they're married or something?”

“That's just bracers, exchanging other pieces means different things.” 

Arraz frowned. “Well what does exchanging helmets mean?”

Boba handed Arraz the Beroya's buy'ce. “It means he broke his own.”

“Still doesn't explain why he's the one that gets the one functional helmet between you two…” Arraz muttered. “Just the visor that's broken?”

“The helmet itself is pure beskar, doesn't really dent like my own.”

Arraz nodded in sage understanding. “So he's your sugar daddy. I see.”

“I'm not--” the Beroya started protesting before Arraz waved him off. 

“Just teasin! It's clear you two just need a nice and serious conversation where you talk about your feelings.”

Arraz walked off, setting the Beroya's buy'ce on a workbench and getting back to whatever she was doing before. 

Boba gave the Beroya an apologetic look. “She's just… Always like this, I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” the Beroya assured with a light chuckle. “You already dumped your entire backstory to me, so I think we're good on serious conversations where we talk about our feelings.”

“Right…” Boba couldn't tell if the Beroya had picked up on the implications of Arraz’s words at all. That was a bit more terrifying than it had any right to be. 

“You two come back in about an hour and it'll be finished!” Arraz called, “you won't want to stay in here, trust me.”

“You might need to um, move it to somewhere less visible…” The Beroya said, worry very obvious. “Beskar is valuable, people will want to steal it.”

Arraz looked up from her work, grabbed the helmet, and threw it in the trash. 

The Beroya deflated, and before he could say anything, Boba shoved him out the door.

“You can trust her, Beroya, don't worry,” Boba muttered as they made their way out of the narrow alley and into the main roads. “And the worst thing in that bin is probably some metal shards. Nothing you'll be smelling.”

“You make a lot of strange friends,” the Beroya observed. 

Boba smiled. “None stranger than you!”

The Beroya laughed. “That's fair, what are we going to do while we wait?”

“We could always browse the stalls,” Boba suggested. 

“I don't have a lot of spare credits,” 

“I have a few,” Boba replied with a smile. He didn't really, but he was itching to do something. Do something for the Beroya, if he were being honest, but he'd watched the man’s ship get blown to dust. No one could blame him for attempting to remedy that as well as he could.

Boba knew the Tatooine markets well, but browsing with the Beroya and his boy in mind was very different from shopping for himself. Would getting the kid a toy be a bit too much of a luxury? They were still sharing nearly all their weapons, but the little guy  _ did  _ get bored often.

Turned out Boba didn’t need to choose, because the Beroya had suddenly stopped, staring at a stall with some very intricate looking carved wooden toys. They looked expensive, but Boba wouldn’t be surprised if they were underpriced. 

“Which one are you thinking?” Boba asked. The Beroya jumped slightly.

“The krayt dragon. The kid could use it to reenact that one time…”

“That was a pretty impressive battle, from what I've heard.”

The Beroya turned to glance at Boba. “From what you've heard?”

“I know Tusken just as well as you do, it's a story that's given with excitement if you ask for it.”

“Guess you had to track me down somehow.”

Boba laughed. “Sure did!” 

Boba started approaching the stall with the toys, the Beroya trailing not far behind him. For their credit, the shopkeeper didn't look too intimidated by the two Mandalorains that had just approached. 

“How much for the krayt dragon?” Boba asked.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. “The big one?”

Boba nodded. 

“Had a feeling when you two started staring. It's 250 credits.”

Boba was not about to spend that much on a toy for a kid that wasn't even his. 

“Sounds good! I'll take it.”

Except that he just did. Didn't even bother bartering. 

Boba sighed heavily as they left, the wooden krayt dragon in his hands. The thing was beautiful, made of interlocking segments so it could bend and twist while being built sturdy enough to be played with by a reckless child like the Beroya's. 

“I assume the shopping trip’s over?” The Beroya asked, and Boba could almost see the mocking smile.

“You're a terrible spending influence.”

“Well, at least they aren't my credits.”

They made their way back to the hangar where they had arrived, they still had time to kill before the Beroya's buy'ce would be fixed. The mechanic who owned the space was the Beroya's friend, apparently, and had loudly refused to do any repairs to the Slave when she’d learned the fate of the Beroya’s ship. From what Boba could tell though, the Slave thankfully didn’t really need to be looked at.

The mechanic was chatting away with Fennec when Boba and the Beroya entered the hangar. Fennec seemed to actually be enjoying herself, which meant that within the thirty minutes they'd known each other the mechanic had managed to get past her default impatience when it came to smalltalk. That wasn't what the Beroya noticed though. 

“Where's the kid?” He asked, attempting to sound casual despite how clear his worry was. 

The mechanic sighed. “I'm glad you're the type to actually care where the womp rat is, but you shouldn't doubt my babysitting skills, I love the fella, he's just around…” She turned to the clearing where the Slave I rested and trailed off. The kid was nowhere to be seen. “Fennec? This is entirely your fault.”

Fennec raised an eyebrow. “You were the one talking to me.”

The mechanic turned away from Fennec as she scoffed and started searching for the kid. “That's exactly what I'm talking about.”

Fennec laughed the tiniest bit, which was a lot for her. “Sure,” she responded, but despite the apathy of her words she'd started searching as well.

The Beroya, of course, was already several steps ahead of all of them, only a bit frantic as he looked through piles of scrap. Boba was late to the search, but was apparently the first one who noticed that the Slave still had its hatch open. He sighed as he entered, immediately making his way over past the nav room and into the hull, arriving at the child’s favorite little place to curl up and hide. His instincts weren't wrong, as he looked into the previously empty cubby and found a pair of fuzzy green ears instead. 

“Are you running away from your bavodu'e?” Boba asked playfully. The kid looked up, a guilty look on his face. “C’mere,” Boba muttered as he picked him up, making his way back outside. 

“I found him!” Boba announced as he descended the ramp back out into the hangar. “I saved the day.”

Boba couldn't hear the Beroya's sigh of relief, but he could see it. “Thank you, Fett. I swear, he lives just to give me heart attacks.”

Boba chuckled as the Beroya approached. “Kids do that,” he commented, not that he had much experience outside of being the sort of kid that gave parents heart attacks when he was younger. 

“What are you two doing back here anyways?” Fennec asked, “clearly Mando’s helmet hasn’t been fixed yet.”

Boba shrugged. “Had some time to kill.”

“We needed to drop this off,” the Beroya added, slinking the wooden krayt dragon off of its place on his neck, moving it towards the child, who looked absolutely delighted at the sight of his new toy.

“How much was that?” The mechanic asked, almost accusatory.

The Beroya shrugged dismissively. “Fett’s the one who got it.”

Fennec shot Boba a glance and he sighed. At least the kid seemed to enjoy his bad spending habits. 

* * *

Boba finally had his helmet back, the Beroya had his own, and now they were leaving for Kamino. The Beroya seemed to spend takeoff in the nav room, which gave Boba plenty of time to mess with Fennec without prying eyes. 

“So  _ you _ got to know that mechanic,” Boba propted, looking back at Fennec with mischief in his eyes. 

“We were only alone for like, thirty minutes. Only as long as you were out with Mando. The hell did you think we did? Fuck?”

“Just being optimistic,” Boba replied airily.

Fennec sighed. “I know you're just teasing, but I really hope you don't think I'm any better at this than you are.”

“I'm a very low bar when it comes to all that, I don't think you should lower yourself that far.”

Fennec swatted him. “You asked me if things were going in that direction what, two months after you saved me? I'd say that's fairly good.”

“But it's  _ you.  _ And you said no.”

“Don't see why I'm so special. We've only been traveling with Mando for a few weeks, you have plenty of time.”

Boba hummed in disagreement, because it didn't really feel like it was a matter of time, but he didn't press. “Did you at least get her comm code?”

“She just gave it to me so that I could have an emergency backup mechanic just in case my cybernetics give out and you're not around.”

Boba raised an eyebrow. “I am almost always within at least a kilometer of you. She doesn't even leave Tatooine.”

“Well Mando wore your helmet for about three days straight, so if I ignore all that reasoning on purpose, you can't say shit.”

“Fair,” Boba replied with a shrug. “Do you think something about being a hired killer does something to a person that makes them incredibly bad at this?”

Fennec snorted. “No. We're just fucked up in a special way.”

Boba sighed. “Well, maybe we’ll go along with the Tatooine plans. You'll have something to come back to.”

“As long as  _ your  _ something doesn’t take too long.”

“No promises,” Boba replied with a faint chuckle. 

It was almost second nature to tell Fennec everything at that point, but Boba also felt like if he said one more word about the Beroya she'd shoot him. Talking was good though, it prevented Boba from overthinking it all too much. Not that he didn't overthink anyways. 

Boba liked where he was with the Beroya. He liked his quiet understanding, the instant camaraderie, the kindness, the humility. But also, of course, that was what led to the desire to take things further. They had clicked almost instantly. For good reason, but still. That wasn't how things had gone with Fennec, not at all. 

But there was also the fact that Boba and the Beroya hadn't known each other for long. On one hand, Boba wanted to wait, wait until he knew that he could, without a doubt, trust this man. On the other hand, that sounded torturous, because Boba did not trust fast, or easily. Even with the Beroya being so genuine, he was still very closed off. Once Fennec and Boba had gotten over their initial conflict, there were no secrets between them, something to do with the realization they both had that they had almost died without anyone who truly knew anything about them left alive. But Boba didn't have that specific near death experience camaraderie that he held with Fennec. 

“What's your love life been like?” Fennec asked idley, saving Boba from his thoughts. “You obviously know about mine, but I don't think you've mentioned anything of the sort while recounting your terrible life story.”

Boba shrugged. “It's nothing special, really. Probably why it never came up. I fooled around as a kid, got my heart broken in a few different ways, decided that I wasn't ready… and then never pursued anything again.”

“Until now.”

“I think it's a bit of a stretch to say I'm pursuing anything at the moment. I might be ready for it now, though, who knows.”

“Well, that'll have been one hell of a break,” Fennec replied with a loose smile. “Are the rumors about you being a huge flirt false, then?”

Boba laughed. “Nope! It's just one of my many tools. Not one I use too much, but there's a reason I have such a good sabbac face, I'm a good actor. By the time someone realizes they aren't getting anything from me, I’m gone. I'm pretty good at it, almost makes me feel bad.”

“Are you sure you're good? You were never slick around me, or Mando, if I'm being honest.”

“It’s different when you actually like the person. Like I said, I use it as a tool on hunts. Never really developed anything that feels genuine.”

Fennec shook her head. “You're crazy, Fett. In a very special way. It's impressive.”

Boba grinned. “I try my best.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they all had weird complex friendships with each other! (oh my god they all had weird complex friendships with each other)
> 
> mando'a translations:  
> buir (buire pl.)- parent  
> beroya- bounty hunter  
> buy'ce- helmet  
> Mand'alor (Mand'alore pl.)- sole ruler  
> bavodu'e- aunts


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah! Boba Fett, what a surprise!” The unfamiliar Kaminoan announced as Boba made his way down the ramp. “Welcome home! Have you finally agreed to becoming our new template?”
> 
> Boba nodded stiffly. He didn't keep promises with cloners, but he still couldn't bring himself to make a verbal agreement. He had forgotten how much he hated all of it. And they'd called it all home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've just started uni, just about to start my third week as i'm writing this, so my writing is going to probably slow down even slower than it already was, unfortunately. but enough about that, kamino time is NOW!

Kamino was a dreadful planet, but not in the more traditional way. No lava, no deserts, no noxious fumes. Ocean planets were often very popular tourist spots, for whatever reason, but Kamino’s constant rain dashed any possibilities for a tourism industry. Not that Boba thought that anyone would consider it even if there was no rain. 

Perhaps there could be tours of the old cloning facilities. “Here's where they sent clones to die for performing poorly! Here's how they fit a million growing kids in this relatively small space! Here's where they kept the information about the secret brain chips that made them genocide the Jedi!”

Play some Max Reebo in the background and you have a party. 

“You grew up here?” The Beroya asked, dragging Boba out of his bitter thoughts.

“Only until I was ten.” His memories of the place were still sharp, though. “But that’s just as long as my childhood lasted.”

The Beroya gave Boba a long glance and he ignored it. It wasn’t his fault Kamino got him remnicing like that, mourning everything all over again.

“You have a plan, right?”

“Unfortunately. They’ll let us in fairly easily, the hardest part will be finding everything.” 

The Beroya paused, looking over Boba in thought. “You’re doing more for me than you’re letting on.”

Boba frowned. “What do you mean? We all agreed to this.”

“The only way they’re going to let us in easily is if you go along with letting them use your genes, at least for a bit. You shot Pershing only a few minutes after he started talking. I’m not an idiot, this is clearly a sore spot for you. Something you don’t want to do.”

“I…” Boba faltered. The Beroya was right, of course, but Boba didn't quite see why it mattered. “I'm sorry?”

Boba thought he heard a very quiet chuckle from under the Beroya's buy'ce, one that wasn't quite picked up by his modulator. “Just don't forget about yourself in all this.”

“Of course,” Boba replied quietly. His attention shifted towards landing, but he couldn't shake the Beroya's words from his mind. When had he become so selfless? The sarlacc had changed him, of course, it changed his very core, but it didn't feel like he'd changed in that way. He had saved Fennec because he knew what it was like to die alone in the desert, he had saved her because he wanted an ally, someone who might've had a chance to understand him. That didn't feel selfless. He had helped the Beroya recover his son to repay a debt, and because he knew it'd keep him up at night if he had just let the child remain captured. That didn't feel selfless. He was helping the Beroya find out what the Imps were doing with the child because of his own fucked up relationship with the whole situation. That didn't feel selfless. 

Just reckless, maybe. 

There were a handful of stormtroopers on the landing pad, a couple Imperial officers, and one Kaminoan. All standing in the rain, getting soaked. The Slave was a recognized ship, one that was let into orbit without much fuss, but it seemed a landing party had been prepared. It would make the whole facade easier, at least. 

Boba maneuvered himself out of the cockpit and unsealed his helmet as he made his way across the nav room. Fennec, from her seat where she was cleaning her rifle, stared at him pointedly. 

“I’ll be fine, Fennec,” Boba said as he gave her a hopefully reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m not…” Fennec frowned. “Just don’t be an idiot.”

“When have I ever done that?”

Fennec glared at him. “There’s a reason I’m not coming along with this initial welcoming party, besides keeping the kid away from all that. You’ll need backup.”

“And I appreciate that you’re willing to be that for me.”

Fennec smiled. “I appreciate the opportunity to save your ass. You going with Boba, Mando?”

Boba turned slightly to see the Beroya emerging from the cockpit. “Of course,” he replied, and Boba could hear the playful smile in his voice. 

“Of course,” Fennnec repeated with a chuckle. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“I promise you that’s the last thing that’ll happen,” Boba replied, lowering the ramp and ending the conversation. Fennec moved just out of sight of any of the Imps, and Boba made his way down, face fully visible. He had to be sure they knew it was him, even if they already trusted it was his ship.

Now that he was closer, Boba could be sure he did not recognize the Kaminoan. It had been a long while, and from what he had gleaned, Kaminoans aged at about the same rate as humans, so it would make sense that he didn’t know them. Still, it felt strange. The scientists who had worked with the clones had been extremely proud of their work, whether that was warranted or not. They wouldn’t necessarily want to pass along the project, and Boba idly wondered if they were forced to. Not that he really cared.

“Ah! Boba Fett, what a surprise!” The unfamiliar Kaminoan announced as Boba made his way down the ramp. “Welcome home! Have you finally agreed to becoming our new template?”

Boba nodded stiffly. He didn't keep promises with cloners, but he still couldn't bring himself to make a verbal agreement. He had forgotten how much he hated all of it. And they'd called it all _home._

“And who's this?” The Kaminoan asked, gesturing toward the Beroya.

“A friend.”

The Kaminoan nodded, but Boba could see the confusion on their face. Probably better than most humans could. “Right. I'm Fim Da, and these two,” they gestured to the officers, “are the representatives of my client. Or our client, I should say.”

The Beroya shifted closer to Boba, bumping their hands together discreetly. Boba wanted to sigh, to thank the Beroya for his presence, something to acknowledge that it helped, but Fim was studying him in the way most Kaminoans had. He couldn’t show that he was nervous at all, or that the Beroya was… close to him? It felt strange, but he supposed it was true. He didn’t want to show any weaknesses for them to take advantage of, anyways. They tended to do that.

“Of course,” Boba responded. “Could you show us the facilities?” He was desperate to leave the rain.

“I would love to,” Fim responded with a smile. “It's probably a fair bit different from when you were last here, but most things don't change.”

The halls of Tipoca City were a steril bright white, as always, but everything seemed much more empty than when Boba had lived there. It didn’t dispel the general eeriness of the place at all. The few people that passed were all either stormtroopers or imperial officers, and after a while Boba slowly realized that Fim was the only Kaminoan he'd seen in the place. The officers that walked alongside the tour were silent the whole time, even as Fim started to point things out. They both retained the typical proud posture of an Imperial officer even soaking wet. Even when the Empire itself was supposed to be gone. 

“How big will the army be this time?” Boba asked, keeping his tone casual. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth anyways. 

“Much smaller than the one you remember,” Fim answered. One of the officers quietly stopped following along. “The Empire is much smaller than it used to be, obviously, but they have also discovered that recruiting stormtroopers ends up saving them much needed resources, so we will be concentrating our efforts on more specialized troopers.” They sounded somewhat bitter about that.

Boba nodded. At least there would be less, well. If he were actually agreeing to all of it, which he was _not._

They stopped in front of one of the rooms in the medical wing. Fim smiled. “Well, here's where we start. Unfortunately, Fett, we cannot have your friend come with you past this point, but if he's determined to stay, we can show him to a room.”

Boba glanced at the Beroya. As much as he didn't want them to be separated, it was a good chance for the Beroya to shake off any shadows and start looking for answers. From the Beroya's subtle nod, Boba was fairly certain that he was thinking the same thing. 

“That's fine,” Boba replied, making a bit of a show “dismissing” the Beroya. Couldn't let him look like he was at all independent, like he was there for any reason other than to just support Boba. “What about me?”

“Just wait in this room right here, I need to go get some datapads. Contracts to sign, all that,” Fim replied, entering the room themself. 

Boba followed, sitting on the couch he found at the center of the room. Fim continued on through the door on the other side of the room, and Boba was left to wait. 

Fim was strange, for a Kaminoan, which meant they had many of the “normal” quirks a Galactic Basic human might have. The way they talked, the way they smiled much more visibly than any other Kaminoan Boba had ever known. He wondered if it was because of the saturation of Imperial officers in the city, something that had probably been the case for years. He wondered if Fim had started working there young, young enough to pick all that up. He refused to feel any sort of pity towards them. 

A panel in the wall to Boba's right very quietly shifted. He startled from his thoughts, moving to get a look at the small gap that had appeared. He should've guessed it was all a trap, but it was easy enough to deal with. Apparently whoever set the thing up hadn't expected him to hear it move. 

Boba felt something piercing his arm, and spinning around, he saw another open slit in the wall across from him. He'd been hit with some sort of tranquilizer dart, made obvious by how woozy he was getting. Another dart came from the original peephole into his other arm for good measure. Probably smart, he had the will and the strength to walk off a single tranq long enough to at least find the Beroya. Not two though.

He collapsed onto the floor, watching as the black spot in the middle of his vision slowly grew. He wondered how long it would take for the Beroya to notice his absence. He wondered if anyone in the place had guessed the amount of backup he had in both the Beroya and Fennec. He hoped Tipoca City wasn’t prepared for the hell they’d raze once they found out about him.

“You've never wanted to have anything to do with this before,” Fim said. They'd returned at some point, probably to collect Boba. “We needed to take a few precautions. Plus, this is all very illegal anyways, at least according to the New Republic. What’s one more law broken?”

And then he was out. 

* * *

There were too many Imps. They crawled all over Tipoca City, and Din figured there was no way he wasn't recognized by at least one of them. Fett didn't seem to expect the Imps either, he kept looking around for something. Someone? But he didn't seem nervous about them at all, not like Din was. 

Shand had Grogu, he had to remind himself of that. He would never ever bring the kid with him to a place like this, despite his whole thing about leaving him places. Shand would inevitably end up following along, but Din knew he could trust her to be stealthy enough with him that it wouldn't be a problem. He wasn't exactly being subtle with Fett and the whole ‘pretending to go along with things’ plan. 

But maybe it would be better if Shand had come instead of Din. She was wanted by the ISB for… Something, her face was known, but despite Din’s anonymity, it wasn't like his armor didn't have a reputation of its own. Perhaps a bigger one, if the kid was truly on his way to the place. He was shinier either way. Stuck out more.

Din took the first opportunity he got to get less eyes on him. He didn't want to leave Fett, he _didn't,_ but as soon as he was away from the main hallways the better. It didn't seem like they had the place staffed to an extent that every nook and cranny had a squad of troopers patrolling, and empty guest rooms wouldn't be well guarded, at least at first. It's not like anyone had been expecting them. 

Also, Fett could take care of himself. Din was fairly confident in that. To follow him around like a lost puppy would be a waste of both of their skills. Fett was the diversion, he had the face, he knew the city, and Din was the one with reasons to come in the first place. Leaving him was a good idea. 

There was one officer leading Din to the room, two stormtroopers escorting them. Easy. He'd get to the room, orient himself on the map Fett had made, and then find where they were storing Grogu's blood. He'd figure out what would need to be sliced and copied and what would need to be destroyed once he got there. 

“Here's your space,” the officer announced in a bored monotone. “Fim Da would like me to let you know that this place belonged to the last donor for the clone trooper project.”

The officer was clearly a bit annoyed at the fact that Fim Da wanted them to recite fun facts, but Din just replayed their words over and over again in his mind. 

This was where Fett had grown up. 

Din entered the room, or, as he realized as he entered, apartment. It was clean, almost sterile. It was clear the place had been empty for a long time, but it was still maintained. He almost didn't want to touch anything, he just spun around slowly, taking it all in. 

To Din’s surprise, as he explored, he found that the apartment was not as lifeless as he expected, not even after 30 years. In one of the rooms, a toy Mandalorian sat neatly atop a bed stand. The metallic paint on the plates was all left bare except for around the visor, where it had been clearly hand painted a rich blue. He tucked the implications of that in the back of his mind to examine later, and grabbed the toy. For Fett, maybe, it clearly had belonged to him, but if Fett didn't want it, Grogu could enjoy it. Din couldn't bring himself to leave the thing either way. He felt so strongly about it, propelled by some strange sense of nostalgia for a life he didn't live. Perhaps he was just doing what he would've done if he has the chance to return to his childhood home.

Din switched his method of exploration after finding the toy, he started flinging open every door he could find. Sure enough, almost every cupboard, cabinet, and drawer he opened had some decades old possession collecting dust. A heavy feeling of wrongness settled into Din’s stomach, he was intruding on something, but since he’d already started the search, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The apartment had been left, all those years ago, left with the intention of coming back, but no one ever had.

_Until now,_ Din supposed. 

* * *

Boba woke up. He couldn't move. 

Whatever he'd been drugged by was probably wearing off, considering the dull ache he felt across his full body. It felt like blood loss, the pain, the nausea, the fact that he couldn’t move, or at least didn’t want to try. Knowing where he was, it all checked out.

Jango had gotten his blood drawn fairly regularly the entire time he had been around for Boba. For the first five years it was once a month, and then after that they slowed it to half a year. Boba could tell every time, even when Jango didn't say anything. It always felt like they took a different amount every time; some months, Jango would just complain about being a bit worn down too fast, others, he'd be visibly trembling with every movement. By the time he was able to, Boba would volunteer to make dinner for those nights. He'd brag about how much he loved cooking, loudly declare how much fun he was having. He'd known too much as a kid, known how guilty Jango had always felt relying on his 7 year old son for food.

Boba had always suspected that they'd draw more blood as some sort of punishment towards Jango, just in case he started thinking about changing the whole deal, and that had all but been confirmed for him now. They'd done the same to him, worse than Jango had ever had it. Unless Jango had been pushing it harder than Boba thought, which wouldn’t be too much of a surprise.

“Why did you come here?”

Boba finally opened his eyes, turning his head away from the white ceiling above him. He was in some sort of cell, and an elderly Kaminoan sat there with him, though it was clear that they were not trapped as he was. He had never seen an elderly Kaminoan before, he realized.

“Fim Da thinks that the chance that you actually came here for the cloning project is near zero. He says that you most certainly have an ulterior motive.”

Boba realized he knew who this was. He frowned very slightly at Taun We. “Well, what do you think?” He could barely speak louder than a whisper, but it didn't matter much in such a dead quiet place. 

“It is not something I find important.”

Boba sighed. “Do you miss me? Is that why you're here?”

Taun We considered that for a bit. She was probably in her seventies, now. It had been a long time, and almost a wonder that Boba could recognize her. “I raised you just as much as Jango did. It would be… inaccurate to ignore any of the feelings I gained from that. But no, that is not why I am here.”

Boba swallowed. “You don’t mean anything to me.” It wasn’t a threat, it was just… an assertion. She had no right to compare herself to Jango.

“By the time you left, you were just as fluent in Kaminoan as Mando’a. But as I said, that is not why I am here.”

But Kaminoan was not the language Boba had clung to after everything fell apart. It didn’t matter. “Then why _are_ you here?”

Taun We’s head tilted up in a smile. “To warn you,” she said. And then she left.

Boba sighed. He had already been captured, what more did he need to be warned of? If anyone needed warning, it was probably the Beroya, or maybe Fennec. All Boba could do was look out of his cell, look out and into the one across from him, and wait.

There was a creature there, in the cell across from his. Not quite small, looked the size of a large strill, but it was probably juvenile considering the fluffy, feathery down that was messily matted to its side. It was familiar, somehow, though Boba knew that he had never seen a creature like it. It was most likely a creation of the Kaminoans’, some sort of side project. Boba watched it walk around hesitantly, like it had only just gained the ability to, and then settle down, staring across the way at Boba with one of its eyes. They just stared at each other, stared until they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops! uh oh! sorry not sorry!
> 
> Mando'a translations (only two this time that you probably already know by now, but I like to keep things consistent just in case):  
> beroya- bounty hunter  
> buy'ce- helmet

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you'd like :) really helps make me feel things. you can also find me on tumblr @[transfetts](https://transfetts.tumblr.com/)


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